Chapter 4: Returning Home

Selena's POV

Monday morning's regular meeting. Pippa walked in holding a document just released by the figure skating association, her expression more serious than usual.

"New season rule changes. Everyone take a look."

She slapped the document onto the whiteboard and pinned it up with magnets.

"The International Skating Union has revised the base values for jump elements. The base score for triple jumps has been cut across the board by fifteen percent. Quad jumps now carry more weight — the bonus multiplier has been adjusted from 1.1 to 1.3."

The locker room erupted immediately.

"That much of a bonus for quads? Why bother training triples at all?"

"This is basically forcing everyone to learn quad jumps."

"Are you serious? You can't just decide to learn quads overnight. One bad fall and you've got a fracture — minimum three months to recover."

Eleanor was sitting next to me, and she didn't look good.

Her technical strength had always been triple jumps. The triple axel was her most reliable scoring element.

With this rule change, her biggest advantage had just been cut down significantly.

Pippa raised her hand for quiet.

"The rules are the same for everyone. The new season is three months away. Starting now, everyone shifts their training focus and puts more time into quad jumps."

I made a note and felt settled inside.

Looks like my prediction was right.

For the past three months, I had been doing one thing.

Every day after regular training ended, I stayed an extra hour.

Once everyone else had left and it was just me and Pippa on the ice, I worked on quad jumps.

I fell a lot. The bruises on my knees layered on top of each other — the old ones hadn't faded before new ones appeared.

But I had to keep going.

The era of triple jumps was going to end sooner or later. I had sensed it half a year ago watching the junior international competitions.

Girls of fourteen and fifteen were already landing quad jumps consistently in competition. It was only a matter of time before the senior rules caught up.

After the meeting, I turned and headed to my locker.

As I passed Eleanor, I felt her eyes on me like nails.

I didn't look at her. I grabbed my notebook and left.

Up in the empty stands, I opened my laptop and started organizing my plan.

The edge angle during takeoff, the body axis during the rotation in the air, the degree of knee bend on landing.

I had annotated every data point with notes and margin of error, along with frame-by-frame screenshots from training footage.

Two hours later, the plan was completely finished.

"Well, if it isn't the orphan from the slums. Sitting here playing on your computer like you've got nothing better to do."

A voice came from behind me.

I frowned and turned to see Eleanor and a few teammates walking over, sports drinks in hand.

"You really think one first-place finish means you'll always be first?"

The taunt hit like a needle in my ear.

But I didn't feel angry.

Because they weren't wrong.

Which is exactly why I couldn't afford to let up for a single moment.

"Thanks for the reminder," I said calmly. "Though if I'm not mistaken, I haven't finished second once since I joined this team."

Eleanor's expression darkened immediately.

Then, right in front of me, she poured the entire bottle of her drink over my laptop.

The orange liquid splashed across the keyboard. The screen flickered twice and went black.

Eleanor let go. The empty bottle dropped to the floor.

She raised her hand to cover her mouth, eyes wide. "Selena, I'm so sorry — my hand slipped."

The teammates behind her burst out laughing.

"What a shame. You just finished that plan, didn't you? I bet you haven't even backed it up."

Eleanor tilted her head, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.

"Want me to find you a top figure skating coach to put together a new plan? After all, with your finances, there's no way you could afford that yourself."

I quietly clenched my fist.

She was right. That's exactly why I made every plan myself.

And now she had destroyed three months of work without a second thought.

"Honestly, don't bother. Even if you had a plan, could you actually land a quad right now?"

"It's getting late — we're heading to practice. Take your time cleaning up, Selena."

With that, the group walked past me, laughing as they left.

I stood there looking at the black screen, feeling surprisingly calm.

Only after their footsteps had completely faded did I take out my phone and open my cloud storage.

After what happened with Jon, I had set up triple off-site backups for every important file.

A folder appeared on the screen, with every training data set and program plan neatly organized inside.

What Eleanor destroyed was just an old laptop.

Not my plans. And definitely not my backup.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, picked up my skate bag, and walked out.

Eleanor thought destroying a laptop meant destroying me.

But she didn't know — I'd been in the habit of keeping backups since my days at the orphanage.

Because no one was ever going to catch me if I fell. No one was going to reach out a hand when I was down.

My only safety net was myself. So I had to back up everything that mattered. Back it up, and back it up again.

That went for feelings as much as data.

Saturday evening, Jon's car pulled up outside my apartment building.

He'd texted ahead and told me to dress nicely.

I stood in front of my wardrobe for a moment, then settled on the most presentable dress I owned — cream-colored, with a row of small pearl buttons at the collar.

I'd bought it last year with my training stipend. I'd only worn it once, to a post-competition dinner.

Jon's family lived in the wealthy district of Silvermoon City — a standalone villa, very large.

When we walked in, the entryway lights were bright.

I hadn't even had a chance to change my shoes when I noticed a well-preserved middle-aged woman sitting on the living room sofa.

She heard us come in and looked up, her gaze sweeping across my face — cold, with a trace of arrogance.

"Jon, so this is your girlfriend from the orphanage." Jon's mother, Elara Brown, spoke in a casual, offhand tone, like she was commenting on a product.

Jon led me into the living room and introduced me to his parents. "Yes, this is Selena."

Elara smiled with contempt. "You managed to get your hooks into our Jon. I'll give you that."

She set down the document in her hands, picked up her teacup, and took a sip — graceful and unhurried.

I stood where I was and didn't speak right away.

The file was spread open across Elara's lap. The first page was my birth record and orphanage registration information.

She hadn't even tried to hide it from me.

As if my entire life were just a few pages of paper anyone could flip through at will.

Jon was sitting on the sofa, head down, looking at his phone — as if he hadn't heard a word Elara just said.

I glanced at him.

He didn't look up.

In that moment, I suddenly understood. Bringing me here might never have been about letting me experience any kind of family warmth.

It was to teach me to bow my head.

I slowly curled my fingers into a fist, then slowly let go.

"Mrs. Brown. It's nice to meet you."

My voice was steady.

Elara seemed reasonably satisfied with my response and took another sip of her tea.

Jon's father, Carl Brown, came out of the study at that moment.

"Let's eat."

His eyes rested on me for two seconds, then moved away — the way you look at something not worth a second glance.

Elara didn't push further.

At the dinner table, the four of us sat one to each side.

Halfway through the meal, Carl suddenly set down his knife and fork, dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and looked at me.

"Selena," he said, from a position of clear authority, "when are you planning to retire?"